


The Vestiges of Time

by Matloc



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, a very WEIRD one, as usual, coffee shop AU, will I ever write anything normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matloc/pseuds/Matloc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hate is the easiest degeneracy of emotion.</p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>When the day comes, he watches his mother pass quietly. Colors around him fade with her last breath and for the briefest moments the world falls into stillness.</p>
  <p>All too soon it becomes a distant memory. The only feeling that stays with him through the years is the taste of the water he’d drink during mourning. Bitter, just like everything else he consumes.<br/></p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	The Vestiges of Time

Seijuurou has never been one for coffee. The heavy taste tends to stick to the back of his tongue, a lingering bitterness that taints his breath and makes his nose wrinkle at the smell. The fragrance of tea, on the other hand, carries mellower cadence and soothes where coffee burns. It also does not last as long in the grooves of his lungs, fading slowly instead of lingering like fresh stains.

He’s always been like that, quick to move on because things too slow to catch up with his present are things deemed unnecessary. Discarded with the rest of the lot. He spends the greater part of his life without much change in this utilitarian itinerary of his.

In a lifetime of congruence formed with people’s kneeling torsos, their bowed heads, their downcast eyes, and each venerating tremble in bone, today he finds a kink in the shape of a humble coffee shop. It’s a minuscule break in the line—not particularly noticeable in all the monotonous patterns marked with expensive glass and concrete—a tiny establishment made of bricks and dressed with wood. It doesn’t make much work of standing out, but Seijuurou’s eyes are instantly drawn to the warmth exuding from its colors amidst a sea of grey and corporate blue.

The kink grows wider when, for the first time in his life, he isn’t greeted with red carpets. Instead a soft voice sweeps through the air, “Welcome.”

A blue-haired man stands at the counter, busy with a coffee maker.

“I am Kuroko Tetsuya, the owner of this place. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Akashi-san.”

* * *

Death is always said to come unannounced, but Seijuurou only ever sees it once, and he sees it coming from a great distance away. One that is measured with pallor that dilutes the skin, or the jagged contour of bones obscenely poking out from his mother’s flesh. At times he sits at the edge of her bed, waiting for the precise moment her skeleton will rip through and walk out the door.

Other times he stops at the threshold, licks the cracks on his lips and feels air burn in the cracks of his throat, but never takes a single step further into the room.

When the day comes, he watches his mother pass quietly. Colors around him fade with her last breath and for the briefest moments the world falls into stillness.

All too soon it becomes a distant memory. The only feeling that stays with him through the years is the taste of the water he’d drink during mourning. Bitter, just like everything else he consumes.

—

The coffee shop reminds Seijuurou in vague tones the earliest moments following his mother’s death. Everything seemed to have been filtered through morose greys just like this place, where light comes to be shredded and sucked out of vacuum. What’s left is a decaying spectrum of whites to flicker over the atmosphere that surrounds the patrons.

It’s like peering through a gossamer curtain. At shadows with billowing contours, a vulgar show of breathing but not quite moving.

“Are you fond of observing people?” comes the owner’s voice not too far away. They’re both at the counter, Kuroko behind it cleaning some glassware while Seijuurou’s sitting on one of the stools, a lukewarm mug in hand. The seats are noticeably hard, like rocky surfaces, almost making visible Seijuurou’s discomfort—who has quite literally always sat in the lap of luxury. Even so he prefers staying at the counter simply because nobody else does.

It’s rare for Kuroko to initiate conversation, however, so he indulges, “Only ones that manage to catch my interest.” His gaze never leaves Kuroko as he speaks, and whether the gesture is conscious or not is a riddle left to perspective.

“That’s how it is for people like Akashi-san, isn’t it? Basking in all the world’s treasures and discarding those that fail to hold your coveted attention. Everything that is usable is disposable, and the people behind you are no different.” Perhaps it is the way he narrates without malice that doesn’t invoke any countering sentiment from Seijuurou. Not a particularly negative one, at least.

He simply returns with an accusation, “You’re being awfully presumptuous.”

“I did not mean to be rude, but I don’t see what’s wrong with telling the truth.” He speaks like there’s a lot of truths he knows, behind the eyes of the world, where darkness dwells. There’s a darkness to his eyes too, like they’re made of glass that reflects what is not meant to be seen. What is not  _desired_  to be seen, to be acknowledged. The tiny water blots marring a Salvadorian masterpiece, the split second tremolos interrupting a Beethoven rendition, and much uglier things teeming only in shadows cast by perfection that is manufactured.

Seijuurou takes the freshly filled coffee cup from bony hands, unable to quell the slight shiver as their fingers brush. Kuroko’s hands are ice despite handling hot coffee mere seconds ago, and Seijuurou wonders if they’ll melt if he dips a finger into the scalding liquid.

The cup feels warm in Seijuurou’s grip, the comfort is welcoming against everything else in this shop. But when the taste of coffee seeps into his mouth, bitterness is the only thing that truly remains.

Like always.

—

The shadows stand out way too much but Seijuurou feels as alone as ever. Like there is nothing else here breathing in the dying colors of the shop. So he investigates on a curious whim, for the sake of understanding if not learning.

Nearing a random seat, he places a hand on the fuzzy shape of a shoulder, and the world blinks back into colors in a flash. Vibrant hues burst into vision like a flower bud exploding with multi-colored petals around him. He’s so lost in the metamorphosis of what used to be a dreary world trapped in the walls of this shop—he realizes a second too late that a woman is now staring up at him with flushed cheeks, looking positively bewildered.

“Excuse me.” He snatches back his hand, throws a calculative glance at the empty seat across the woman, and constructs a reason. “It seems someone is calling for you from outside the shop.” He tilts his head towards the window and gets assaulted by the first streams of sunlight he has ever seen invade this shop. After an inertia of muddled greys fogging the windows he finally sees the outside world with a transparency he finds he’ll need time getting used to.

He can tell he worded it perfectly with how her face lights up and she lets out a hurried, “Really! He could have just come inside.”

She’s gone like the wind, shuffling to her feet and thanking him in all the time frame of a rushed second or two.

His only option is to go back to the counter when the scenery doesn’t change. The place is still vibrant and he can now see the different flowers decorating the corners of the shop. The smell of coffee still hits him strong but there’s a natural fragrance that comes anew to soothe his nerves.

As if to blend with the theme of today’s sunny morning, for once Kuroko gives him growing hints of a smile. “You are very good at lying, Akashi-san.”

“No.” He takes a seat, right at the edge where he can see the blue-haired man work best. “I’m good at predicting outcomes.”

It doesn’t quite work, Kuroko’s appearance clashes terribly against the polar shift in atmosphere. His work clothes are black as always, and though what’s visible of his skin is milky pale Seijuurou thinks he’ll still find shadows draped all over his body, should he strip him naked. It’s a thought pervading his imagination with increasing frequency and details since the last time they talked. There’s an urge that follows, to expose what Kuroko seems to hide behind the glass of his eyes, the invisible shadows that wrap around him like armor.

Kuroko strays his gaze to the glass door, and Seijuurou’s own follows naturally to see the woman from before hugging a man. It doesn’t last long, but every second of it is burned into the threshold of his memory. His only response comes with crescents forming on his palm, curled into a tight fist.

“They’re different from Akashi-san, see?” Had Seijuurou’s form not been coiled stiff with the latent seed of resentment, he might have shuddered at how close Kuroko’s voice feels. The barest tingle of lips brushing his ear, the subtle chill Kuroko’s breath brings over the back of his neck. “They’re normal people living normal lives, and you hate them for it. You hate that you’re tied down to your mother’s death while the rest of the world moves on without you. You cut your losses without a thought for others, but it’s truly you who’s been left behind. You hate them— _humans_.”

Seijuurou’s voice curdles hotly in his throat, but it’s trapped in the cracks left by the past. The world is still sunny before him, but there’s a shadow looming right over his body with blue eyes and an impeccable smile. Icy fingers slide over his cheeks, digging into his flesh as they pull up his face and make his insides squirm with the touch. It doesn’t feel human, he realizes too late.

“I hate them too,” breathes Kuroko, their lips brushing. Seijuurou feels the warmth of his blood draining as the seconds tick by. There’s a count running down in his head, numbers solemnly falling into the abyss that’s now surrounding their feet. “Let me help you, Akashi-san. I’ll remove everything you hate.” The last thing he sees is Kuroko’s smile, something deceitfully wicked he doesn’t need to hide because Seijuurou has been mesmerized from the start.

For the first and last time in divine history, a human falls from grace.

 

**Author's Note:**

> and that's how Akashi becomes the king of hell (NO)


End file.
